


that's what she said

by prefacing



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Canon Compliant, Gen, Locker Room, M/M, Stupidity, also butts getting slapped, and the magic of modern plumbing, i guess jeanmarco if you squint too, val doesn't write ships the sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 17:06:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1477363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prefacing/pseuds/prefacing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens in the boy's locker room stays in the boy's locker room.  Feat. Reiner's Muscles, Marco's ass freckles, and a special guest appearance by Jean's dick. Written for <a href="http://snkkink.dreamwidth.org/2124.html?thread=1583180#cmt1583180">this prompt</a> on the SnK kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that's what she said

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of things:
> 
> 1\. I realized 3/4ths of the way through that they probably didn't have modern plumbing back in the Shingeki day but was too damn lazy to fix things at that point, so pretend there was some sort of plumbing miracle that gave them hot water out of a pipe.
> 
> 2\. There is an instance of anachronistic phrasing in this fic and I don't even care.
> 
> 3\. I didn't proofread the second half so sorry about the typos assaulting your eyes.

It'd started with Marco darting furtive glances to his left, where Reiner stood showering, arms raised slightly over his head and water rivulets running well-defined outlines around bicep and shoulder blade. It was an unspoken fact in the 104th that Reiner Braun was possessed of, if not the biggest body, then certainly the most impressive, one envied deeply by near every male in the training corps. Marco was no exception, even if his feelings ran more towards quiet admiration than loud vocal envy. (The weeks when Connie didn't crudely remark on the size of Reiner's muscles being an accurate predictor of certain other parts of his anatomy were few and far in between.)

How Reiner had come by his formidable physique had become the heated debate of many a suppertime conversation, with more than a handful of theories currently on the table ranging from the logical and mundane ( _obviously_ the result of a hell of a lot of training) to the completely laughable (a blood sacrifice made to some higher power by his parents on the eve of his birth).

Marco, ever rational, sat neatly in Camp Trained Far Too Much, but even he had to agree that there was something just a little bit off about this whole thing, because surely the rest of them trained just as much and none of _them_ sported thighs the size of tree trunks. After no small amount of wheedling by Connie, Armin had grudgingly offered his calculations on what might be considered reasonable size and what spilled into the downright insane.

Hence, the staring.

He'd been at it for the better part of three minutes, attention firmly on Reiner's muscles when it wasn't focused on scrubbing a day's worth of sweat, tears, and blood off his body (with only the latter a figure of speech). In a way, the whole activity bordered on the perverse, but Marco justified it by reminding himself that it was all for the greater good. Or at least the greater good of the collective 104th's sanity.

(Though it wouldn't have been inaccurate to say that there hadn't been motive outside of technical calculation present in his staring. The way those muscles rippled—)

“Somethin' on your mind, Marco?”

Innocent the words might've been, but the lazy smirk winding itself up Reiner's lips was anything but, and the freckles on Marco's face decided now would be a excellent time to vacation, disappearing completely in a sea of red as his attention jerked back to the present, refocused on the smug blocky face next to him. Ashamed at being caught so openly staring, Marco laughed weakly, one hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck while his eyes darted away from Reiner's (admittedly very fine) form.

“Not really. It's just,” and here he waved his free hand in Reiner's direction, a vague flick of the wrist meant to incorporate everything and nothing at the same time, “well, you're very...big.”

From farther down, Connie snickered and muttered, in a voice clearly meant to be heard by every single male currently in the shower, “That's what she said.”

Realizing the unfortunate phrasing of his words—if there was one thing Marco had never succeeded at, it was speaking eloquently under pressure—he flushed more and in an attempt to save face, blurted out, “Not—I meant your muscles! Your muscles are really big. You—you must really train a lot to be in such good shape.”

Looking determinedly at the rivulets of water dripping down the wall in front of him ( _that couldn't have sounded any stupider—_ ), Marco failed to notice the way Reiner's smirk grew, along with the bigger boy's approach. It wasn't until he felt the weight of an arm slung across his shoulders—causing him to yelp aloud, slip backwards, and nearly crack his skull open in the process—that he realized that he'd suddenly become very buddy-buddy (at least in terms of proximity) with the person who'd been the object of his close attentions just moments before.

“Little bit, yeah. 'S not hard though; just get Bertholt to sit on you the next time Shadis yells for a hundred push-ups. ”

Smiling broadly, Reiner leaned over to flick Marco's left shoulder, tanned from too many hours spent laboring under the sun and generously splattered with freckles as a result. They'd never been a particular source of embarrassment for Marco – the circulation of “Freckles” as his nickname had been something he'd taken good-naturedly, as he had with all things – but the problem with having freckles in one place was that they managed with alarming rapidity to migrate and populate to other, less public, places. Usually not a problem, but with the shedding of clothes came the shedding of any sort of decency, as Marco would soon find out.

“You're not half-bad yourself, Freckles.” Then, loudly: “Hey, Bertholt!”

Happy about flying under the radar until now, Bertholt's head jerked up at the sudden shout of his name and proceeded to splutter as water went flying into his eyes. Reiner laughed uproariously as the taller boy frantically swiped shower water mingled with tears out of his eyes before glancing in their direction.

“Y-yes?”

Reiner jerked his head towards Marco, still trapped underneath one beefy arm and about as comfortable with the entire situation as a cat tied to a still-running water pump, hands clasped tightly in front of him and a half-smile half-grimace plastered on his face.

“Get over here and do me a favor; take a look at Marco's ass and see if it's got as many freckles as his face.”

Marco groaned, Connie whooped, and Bertholt looked like he was ready for the ground to swallow him whole. His eyes darted left and right as he stood frozen in place, in search of some excuse not to have to comply to Reiner's request. But his brain, traitorous thing that it was, chose that second to hang up a Not Open sign and merrily go on vacation, leaving his tongue heavy and with nothing to say.

“I-I don't think-”

Armin, currently rinsing off the soap in his hair and feeling particularly sorry for both Marco and Bertholt, decided to speak up in an attempt to divert Reiner's attention from the freckles dotting Marco's behind to something a little less embarrassing for two of the three parties involved. Unfortunately, the factoid that spilled out didn't do much to keep Reiner at bay, and really only served to make everything ten times worse.

“You know, they say freckles only appear on patches of skin that have been exposed to a lot of sun-”

He didn't make it any farther than that as Reiner promptly let out a loud cackle and a vehement:

“Don't tell me you've been sneaking off to sunbathe in the nude all this time, Marco!”

And then, because Bertholt looked so damn cute stuttering in his section of the showers, his face a matched pair to Marco's, he called out again, this time in Bertholt's direction. “Maybe you oughta join him next time, Bert. Cute as your ass is, I bet a little color couldn't hurt.”

Bertholt, a strangled sound rising from his throat, abruptly spun and ran out of the showers, long legs carrying him out of sight as half the boys in the shower (Marco and Armin excepted) burst into loud raucous laughter; Marco only let out a long-suffering groan, feeling betrayed by the quick retreat of his former comrade-in-arms. From behind Reiner, Armin shot Marco a look, blue eyes apologetic for the way he'd unintentionally made everything worse. Despite sighing, Marco's lips tugged up against his will in a small smile meant to say _it's alright, don't worry, I've been through worse_. 

“Oi, Reiner.”

A few feet away, Jean glared at the group, wet hair plastered atop his head and eyes lidded and full of irritation.

“I don't wanna run more fucking laps because Shadis found out you used up all the hot water when you couldn't stop making shitty jokes about Marco's freckles.” 

All he'd wanted was to shower in peace and then haul his ass off to bed, a hard thing to do when a) Reiner wouldn't shut the fuck up and b) Connie wouldn't stop flicking soapy water into his ear, the ass. Most of the others had finished already, Eren included, and were slowly parading out of the showers one by one. But despite being fully dressed and half-way out the door, it seemed Eren still couldn't resist a jab at Jean when the opportunity presented itself, and twisted his body so he was facing Jean, a heavy smirk on his face. 

“Right, 'cause you don't waste water all the time trying to make that shitty haircut of yours less shitty. What'd you do, let a blind titan cut it for you?”

Never possessed of a lengthy temper and already half the short way to his breaking point, Jean's only response was to grab the nearest bar of soap and fling it at Eren; it bounced harmlessly off the tiling right next to the door as Eren cackled and vanished from the open doorway.

(At some point, Marco had managed to slip out from underneath Reiner's grip and make a very careful but rapid journey to the opposite side of the showers.)

Laughing, Reiner made his way back to his original spot and the remaining residents were mercifully subjected to no more disruptions until—

Connie, finished with his shower and a grin stretching his face into near-ghastly proportions, snapped his half-wet towel, held just below waist level, outward at Jean as he ran past, whooping at the top of his surprisingly well-developed lungs (gifted to him by his long and frequently abusive friendship with Sasha, no doubt).

The slap of towel against bare flesh rang out into the air, followed shortly by an inhuman yell of rage and the words, “Connie you asshole, I'm gonna fucking kill you!”

But the thing about shower floors, particularly when wet, was that they had the amazing ability to become slick as winter ice, and Jean only managed to make it two steps out before his right foot went sliding forward and he squeezed his eyes shut, hands thrown outward and braced for impact.

His first thought – a nice one, something along the lines of _damn they must've redone the building because this wall is actually pretty fucking comfortable_ – was rudely interrupted by someone clearly their throat close to his ear and a meek:

“...Jean?”

_Shit._

Not a wall then but a person, a person he actually liked and respected, and a person he definitely hadn't wanted to make things awkward with. 

Warily, he opened one eye, face going bright red when he saw – and felt – just how firmly pressed against Marco he was. Funny, but he'd never really noticed how strong Marco was, even after three years of training alongside the other boy. There was no softness his stomach, and the bicep he'd reflexively curled one hand around was firm and taut. He'd also never noticed just how many freckles covered Marco's face, or how the five highest up on his left cheekbone made up a tiny star.

Mesmerized, he lifted one hand to touch it lightly. Marco blinked.

“Uh, Jean? Are you okay?”

“Wha—”

Jolted back to reality, Jean blinked, then shook his head. “Yeah, I'm fine, totally fine.”

Unfortunately, some parts of him were more fine than other parts and he could feel one particular part perking right the hell up, just about ready to stand at full-mast. In a move eerily reminiscent of Bertholt earlier, Jean yelled, did a clumsy 180, and sprinted back to his spot in the showers, a spot now pumping ice cold water down onto his head.

His brain thanked the cold water. The rest of his body did not.

“ _Shit!_ ”

\---------

Later, in the barracks:

“So how'd you get so many freckles all over your ass anyway? There must've been at least fifty of 'em.”

“...Were you counting, Jean?”

“I— _Shut up!_ ”


End file.
